


you were the sweetest apparition, such a pretty vision

by moonmotels



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Jealousy, Lesbian Sex, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23130253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels
Summary: misty + cordelia + years of mutual pining
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 34
Kudos: 138





	you were the sweetest apparition, such a pretty vision

When Cordelia was a child, she never dreamed in color.

Misty awakes as she always does; on her stomach, cheek squished into the pillow, and one hand curled around the soft yellow blanket atop her body. She stretches out; agile like a cat, and squeaks when her muscles ache from where she slept wrong. Outside, the rain is light, the sun trying its hardest to peek through the abysmally thick and heavy clouds. Misty breathes in deep, cherishing the smell of the earth that floats through her cracked window. No matter what the weather - rain, snow, sleet, or hail, she keeps that window open. It grounds her to this plane of existence every morning, reminds her that she is here and she is alive. Not everything in her life is as perfect as she’d like it to be, but she has this and it has to be enough. Just for today.

Dressing herself slowly, methodically, Misty picks her jewelry for the day and spares the quickest of glances at herself in the mirror. Since returning from Hell, she doesn’t care to really look at herself anymore. The reflections never lie; always give her the truth that she sometimes bares the image of someone who spent too long in the underworld. The bags under her eyes are prominent and remind her that she is no longer the person she was before, and is only operating the best way she knows how. Somehow, she is strangely calm with this, knowing any negative effects wash away when she is in Cordelia’s presence. This means something, and they both know it, but the two person dance they do to avoid overstepping boundaries is much more convenient and comfortable for their liking.

Down the hall, Cordelia’s office door is shut. She’s been spending more and more time locked away behind this door as if she is firmly rooted to her office chair, and Misty would be truly concerned if she didn’t come out sporadically for nutrients and regular greenhouse visits. Cordelia popping in and out of the greenhouse comes as a treat, like her presence is a gift Misty gets in spades. She takes each visit with a grain of salt, knowing Cordelia is busy and would probably much rather be spending her time elsewhere, but cherishing these moments is like cherishing grains of sand in your hand, knowing it’ll slip away completely at some point. Misty holds onto them with a tight grasp and hopes they’ll never disappear.

In the kitchen, Madison and Mallory are gossiping over a charcuterie board of cheeses and fruits. Misty interrupts them by leaning between and snatching a bunch of grapes. Popping three in her mouth, she chews thoughtfully before asking, “What are y’all up to today?”

Mallory says, “Nothing much with the rain storm coming in. Maybe a movie later?”

Madison rolls her eyes and snaps, “No, swampy. We’re actually going to be doing lines of coke and then hanging Cordelia’s granny panties on the gates out front so everyone walking by can see. Wanna join?” She cocks her head to the side, and Misty has a pleasant flashback to the time she nearly killed Madison with her bare hands.

“Sounds like a real fuckin’ blast, but I think I’ll pass.”

“You don’t wanna raid Cordy’s panty drawer with us?” Madison pouts, “I know you’re dying to.”

“I’m _dyin_ ’ to rip every hair extension out of your pretty lil head and -”

Mallory interrupts them by waving a hand between their faces, a truce of some sorts. “What were you going to do today, Misty? Anything fun?”

“Well, nothin’ really,” she shrugs, “figured I’d spend time outside and make sure the garden’s gettin’ enough rain.”

Madison shoves a finger in her mouth and fake gags.

“I have an idea,” Mallory gleams, “Why don’t you take Cordelia to that open air market? She’d love that.”

Misty studies her for a moment, wondering why she looks so adamant over this idea. “I guess we could,” she replies slowly, before nodding in agreement. “Y’all wanna come along? It'd be fun.”

Mallory jabs Madison knowingly in the side with her elbow, passing her a look that Misty can’t begin to decode. Madison narrows her eyes and makes a face, replying, “Nobody wants to watch you two eye fuck each other and keep your chastity belts on. No fucking thanks, swampy. Your little lesbo date doesn’t need any additional people.”

Jamming the last of the grapes in her mouth, Misty uses that as an excuse to keep her insults at bay. Swiping past, she flicks Madison on her neck before transmuting back up the stairs. Muffling her giggles at Madison’s angry yelp, she pauses at Cordelia’s office door before gathering up the wits to knock.

Naturally, Cordelia’s angelic voice calls for her to come in, and they’re finally face to face. Seeing Cordelia, no matter how long it’s been since the last time, always feels brand new and exciting. As if peering at her with new eyes, Misty studies her carefully. Her blonde hair falling in a perfect frame over her jawline, the way her fingers curl around the pen she’s writing with, the way her chest rises and falls so beautifully with every blissful breath. Everything about Cordelia is so intoxicatingly radiant that Misty can never and will never get enough.

When Cordelia finally looks up, she immediately smiles. Misty almost wishes she wouldn’t do that, because she can’t find the words to say that whenever Cordelia smiles, her only train of thought is that she’d relive Hell again just to kiss the look off her face.

Misty manages a smile back and says, “Hi there, cutie.” 

(She can’t help herself with that one.)

Cordelia ducks her head to hide the blush creeping up her neck. “Hi Misty. What are you up to?”  
  
“Ah, a little of this, a little of that. You know, the usual,” Misty snorts. “How’s the paperwork coming?”

“I might actually gauge my eyes out again if I have to sign another permission slip for the girls to practice magic outside academy walls.” 

Misty refrains from telling her she’d still be the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth. “Care for a little distraction then?” She tries to keep her tone steady, but with Cordelia, intimacy and excitement seep through no matter what the subject matter is.

Cordelia mercifully doesn’t comment on that, instead replies, “What did you have in mind?”

“Mallory mentioned somethin’ ‘bout the open air market. Thought we could pick up some lunch, maybe a beignet or three.”

“It’s raining,” Cordelia comments, but Misty knows she’ll say yes anyway. She always says yes when it comes to Misty. 

“Never killed anyone as far s’I know.”

Cordelia lifts an eyebrow in amusement and breathes out a laugh. “I suppose you’re not wrong. Will Mallory be joining us? Since it was her idea?” 

_(Please say no.)_

Misty feigns thought for a moment, shaking her head no. “She’s busy with Hollywood. Somethin’ boutta movie later. Is that okay?”

“Yes, of course. Give me a minute to change?”

  
Fifteen minutes later, Cordelia is pushing open the gates and holding them open for Misty. “Such a gentleman,” she comments as she slips by, winking just to see Cordelia blush again. 

Cordelia’s quiet, “You deserve it,” has her heart fluttering rapidly in her chest cavity.

The walk down to the market feels slow and swift all at once. Time moves in slow motion when Misty is around Cordelia, but it also feels so rushed and dizzying, like time is mocking her for believing she could take these moments and stretch them out. Cordelia grips on to her arm tightly when they walk over cracks in the pavement, afraid she’ll twist an ankle in the high heels she’d mistakenly put on.

“I’ll never understand you and them fancy shoes,” Misty pokes fun at her, all while knowing they only add to how radiant Cordelia is.

“They’re comfortable,” Cordelia defends lamely, “Not all of us can manage going barefoot,” she teases.

Misty sticks her foot out and jokes, “You’re in luck today, I put on my nicest sandals for ya.”

Cordelia tosses her head back in unrefined laughter, the most soothing thing Misty’s ever heard. (She tries not to stare, but it's hard when the exposed skin of her neck looks like the perfect place to drop a dozen kisses.)

“I’m surprised you even own a pair of shoes.”

“What can I say, I’m always full a’ surprises.”

“That you are.”

Misty simply bumps their shoulders together in response. The rest of the walk is effortless and amicable, the rain holding out long enough for them to make it to the market. Their first stop, obviously, is at a food stall, where Misty buys Cordelia a simple greek pasta salad and mac & cheese for herself. It’s always comforting to her that she and Cordelia are polar opposites but still connect on such an intimate level that it doesn’t even feel like they’re trying. 

Sitting across from Cordelia as they eat feels ridiculously domestic, like they’re having a pit stop for lunch before continuing on with their lazy Sunday date. Misty wouldn’t dare call this a date to Cordelia’s face - dates are for people who aren’t cowardly enough to hide their true feelings, so she takes their time together as is. No more, no less. Maybe someday these feelings will expand into something tangible and real, but not today.

Out of nowhere, Cordelia reaches across the table and uses her thumb to swipe a string of cheese off Misty’s chin. Misty would be embarrassed, if Cordelia didn’t stick said thumb into her mouth and clean it off. “Tastes a little nutty. Gouda?” she asks casually, going back to stabbing at her salad.

Misty nods slowly, the lump in her throat making it obnoxiously hard to swallow. “Gouda and gruyère, I think. Definitely not from the cardboard box like my mama used to make.”

Cordelia merely hums in reply, seemingly invested in forcing a piece of cucumber on her fork.

As they meander through vendor stalls and stands, Misty chatters away with most workers, picking up chocolates here and jewelry there. She makes a point to look at everything; partially because of curiosity, mostly to extend upon the time she spends with Cordelia. Their elbows link effortlessly, like they were made specifically for this purpose, and Misty pretends like the press of Cordelia’s hip against hers doesn’t send thrill after thrill up her spine.

After Misty had made friends with an older man selling homemade soaps, purchasing several for the older girls, she turns to find Cordelia admiring a stall with fresh cut flowers. Aptly named Amber’s Arrangements, Amber; presumably, locks eyes with Misty and grins. Misty offers her a grin back, stepping up beside Cordelia and leaning in.

“See anything you like?” she nudges Cordelia with her elbow and drowns in the way honey brown eyes observe her baby blues.

Cordelia shakes her head, has the _nerve_ to lean in and whisper against the shell of her ear, “She has everything but marigolds.”

Misty already knows they’re her favorite, because, well, she just does. “Reckon she’s got everything else under the sun.” She jerks her head towards the colorful flowers lining the stand and ground at their feet, shades of purples and yellows, reds and blues. Her arrangements are dutifully arranged with the most pleasing aesthetic, and it’s a wonder why Cordelia and Misty are the only two admiring Amber’s works.

“Hello ladies, I’m Amber, if you couldn’t tell,” she says sweetly. “Looking for anything in particular?” With long dark hair and the perfect shade of hazel eyes, Cordelia feels almost threatened when she flicks her gaze between the two of them, as if eyeing them up and debating on the status of their relationship. Cordelia physically aches to reach out and take Misty’s hand, to pull her close and confirm that she is _hers_ , but she can’t because Misty is not. 

Cordelia watches with fear in her eyes as Misty gets roped into a conversation about peonies and orchids. It’s not really Misty’s fault that Amber completely falls for her luxurious personality, because who wouldn’t fall deep in love with her upon first sight? Amber, unfortunately, takes her niceness as a cue that she may be interested, offering Misty bundles of flowers to smell and admire, all while extending the conversation by complimenting her clothes and jewelry.

After nearly five minutes of them animatedly talking as if they were the only two people on this planet, Cordelia clears her throat. 

Misty whips her head around as if she forgot Cordelia had existed. Frowning, she asks, “The rain botherin’ you?” The skies have now opened up, the drizzle turning into a shower that has Cordelia’s hair frizzing at the roots, about as un-put together as anyone would ever see her.

“I’m fine,” she replies, tight lipped. “Are you almost done?”

Amber seems annoyed Cordelia has interrupted them, pulling Misty back into their conversation with a light hand on her forearm. Cordelia sees red. If looks could kill, Amber would be six feet under with the dirt packed lovingly by Cordelia’s own two hands. Misty, bless her soul, seems oblivious to the tension between the two women. It’s almost like a silent game of cat and mouse to see who can win Misty’s affection, and if Cordelia had been winning, she’s just now been knocked down from first place to second.

She catches the tail end of Amber offering Misty something, and then a clear, “So listen, Misty, I’m gonna pack the rest of my stuff up, but I’d love for you to come down to my shop. It’s only a few blocks that way, and I can show you that bouquet I mentioned. How’s that sound?” 

To Cordelia’s absolute horror, Misty practically launches at the offer, bouncing on her feet in palpable excitement. Without checking for Cordelia’s reaction, she fawns over Amber and sighs in delight. “Gosh, that’d be awesome. Are y’sure?”

Amber, with her shiny teeth and snake-like venom dripped tongue, has the audacity to wink at Misty. “It’d be my pleasure to keep my shop open late for such a pretty woman.”

Misty dimples become visible as the edges of her lips curl up in a soft grin. Cordelia has seen this look before - only when she’d been on the receiving end of it. If Misty had been the waves that crashed relentlessly into Cordelia’s shore, they are now retreating faster than she could blink, as if slipping out of her grasp while she fumbles for stability. In the time it takes for her to come up with an excuse as to why she needs Misty home with her, Misty has already helped Amber load the few boxes in her truck. 

Standing there numbly, with no feeling left in her bones, Cordelia opens her mouth to say something when Amber interrupts. “Sorry, I only have room for two in my truck. You wanna come to the shop? It’s only three blocks that way and down the one way street. You can’t miss it.” It’s fairly clear, between them, that Cordelia is not wanted there. 

Cordelia may be the most powerful witch on earth, and she may have endless tendrils of power at the tips of her fingers, but she cannot compete when it comes to Misty. She is weakened at the knees with the mere look Misty gives her, and she is useless in denying her what she wants. If this is what she desires - to go spend time with a stranger she’s just met, then that is what Cordelia will allow her to do.

“No thank you,” she answers curtly to Amber, and then, “I’ll see you at home,” to Misty.

Misty eyes her with an unreadable look. “You sure ya don’t wanna come?” she finally asks, walking backwards towards the car door Amber opens for her.

Cordelia offers her one final wave and a quiet, “I’ll see you later,” before Misty is gone like the time she’d turned to dust in her arms. It hurts, to remember that, much like it hurts to watch her drive away now however many years later. With the most intense feeling of déjà vu, Cordelia turns on her heel and begins the slow walk home alone.

Amber pulls up behind a nondescript building, jumping out to hold the door open for Misty. Hopping out, Misty brushes the dirt off her skirt and waits as Amber unlocks the door to her shop. Stepping inside, the smell of fresh cut florals overwhelms Misty’s senses. It reminds her of Cordelia, as most things do. During frigid winter nights, when the house is quiet and the girls are asleep, Cordelia would curl up on the couch with Misty to watch old episodes of the Twilight Zone. The flowers remind Misty of her because the only time they willingly allow each other to gravitate together is when the cold air gives them a safe reason to. Cordelia always smells of something floral and spicy up close, a unique dichotomy that has Misty swooning every time she’s near. 

Blinking herself from a daze, she turns and tells Amber, “You gotta real nice place. I never even knew there was a flower shop here.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fairly new. Just opened up about three months ago. You like it?”

Misty nods, running her fingers aimlessly across petals as soft as silk. “S’cute.”

“You’re cute,” Amber jives, but Misty doesn’t answer that. “You said you were looking for marigolds? Any particular reason?”

“Ah, yeah, they’re Cordelia’s favorite. Figured I’d give ‘er a lil pick me up, you know?”

“Cordelia is….”

“My friend, the one that was with me at the market.” Misty bends down to take a dying orchid between careful fingers, rubbing the petal to nonchalantly revive it.

Amber has her back turned, searching for marigolds amongst the other flowers. “So you two aren’t, uh?“

“Together? No.” It almost doesn’t hurt to say.

“Really? She seems like she has it bad for you. It’s a shame she hasn’t made a move.”

“Guess so,” Misty shrugs, “there’s not much to say ‘bout it.” 

Misty is not naïve. She knows she has just stepped into the lion’s den and is being circled as though she is the prey and Amber is the lion. It almost feels nice, to be desired the way Amber seems to want her. It’s different than the way Cordelia desires her, which is a harrowing thought, because if she really did want Misty, wouldn’t she have done something by now? Misty cannot waste her life withering away for the possibility of lingering glances or brushes of the backs of hands in darkened rooms. She deserves more, and if Cordelia cannot provide that for her, she will seek it elsewhere. It’s human nature.

“I’m sorry for overstepping,” Amber angles her head to pander Misty with a look that almost seems apologetic. “I know we just met.”

“S’okay. I’m an open book.”

“Good to know. Marigolds; red, orange, or yellow?”

“Yellow, if you have ‘em.”

“For you, anything,” Amber grins. “I only have orange up here, but I know I have some yellow in the back. You wanna come look?”

With the way Amber looks at Misty, she knows what this means. She knows stepping into the back room will be something she cannot take back after it happens. There is no time to consider consequences and ramifications with the swell of raw, unfiltered emotion rising in Misty’s chest. Without thinking, she looks directly into Amber’s eyes and says, “Lead the way.”

When Amber offers out her hand, Misty takes it and ignores that it’s not as soft as Cordelia’s.

In the cool back room, filled with refrigerators boasting cut flowers of every variety, Amber drops Misty’s hand in lieu of bending over to search one of the shelves. 

Misty hums quietly to herself, admiring the bouquets the same way she admires Cordelia’s works of art in the greenhouse. She feels scarily comfortable with the similarities surrounding her. “Tell me about yourself?” she asks.

Amber stands, holding up a dozen or so uncut stems for Misty to nod at. She begins trimming and snipping with expert precision. “I moved here from LA about six months ago when my girlfriend left me and spent a while dicking around before opening up this place.”

“Sorry to hear about’cha girlfriend.”

“Sorry to hear about Cordelia.”

Misty snorts. “Me too.”

Amber hands Misty the arrangement, smirking when their fingers brush delicately. Misty’s back is to the counter, and she unconsciously steps backwards until her lower back is pressed against the cold metal. She watches pensively as Amber steps closer and closer until they’re only inches apart.

Misty clears her throat. “How much do I owe you?”

Deliberately raising her eyebrows in amusement, Amber reaches up and tucks a lock of Misty’s hair behind her ear. The touch would be innocent, if not for the way she panders Misty with a clouded look of lust. Misty makes a throaty noise, leaning her head into the cool press of Amber’s palm against her cheek. It’s been so long since someone has even been this close to her, let alone touched her so gently, and it has Misty’s eyes fluttering shut. It feels so fucking freeing to be held by someone in this way, the way Cordelia has never touched her. Cordelia can brush up against her, or lay her hand on Misty’s waist to scoot by her, but she would chop her own arm off before reaching towards Misty like she means it. It’s almost as if she’s afraid of getting burnt and Misty is a raging ball of fire.

“You owe me nothing, if you let me kiss you.”

Misty opens her eyes to find Amber staring at her intensely with those beautiful hazel eyes. Thunder claps above as Amber presses her torso against Misty’s, placing both palms against the counter to effectively trap her there. Misty doesn’t feel trapped, she feels wanted, _needed_ , and it’s intoxicating. This is all she’s craved for so long, and it might not be the right person but it’s something. 

She parts her lips in an undeniable request, and then Amber is leaning in. The first kiss is soft, sensual, barely more than a peck. Misty can hardly feel it, but then Amber is moving back in and pressing a harder kiss to her lips, this time adding the delicious pressure of a hand possessively gripping her waist. 

_(She tastes like peppermint and stale coffee. Cordelia would taste like galaxies and stardust, like love and affection.)_

All of a sudden, everything feels wrong. The body pressed against Misty is too firm and not the right softness, the hand holding her hip too tight, the lips too small and not at all made to fit Misty’s the way she knows Cordelia’s would.

With a gust of air launching from the back of her throat, Misty tilts and wrenches apart from Amber. She slides sideways out of the embrace, wiping her lips off with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry, I, I, - I’m,” she stutters.

“In love with Cordelia,” Amber finishes for her. “Guess you finally figured that out for yourself.”

Misty squeezes her eyes shut and wonders where her brain has been the last twenty minutes. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.

“It’s alright, I guess,” Amber shrugs, “I can’t do anything about it. Maybe next time don’t ignore those feelings and pretend they don’t exist. To avoid something like this.” She puts a few feet distance between them, and Misty could not be more thankful. Her presence is now draining, not at all welcoming like Misty had once thought.

“I’ll just, um, I’ll go,” she says, embarrassed.

“Take these,” Amber pointedly hands her the bouquet of flowers. “Come see me if it doesn’t work out, yeah?”

Misty finds herself nodding on autopilot, still trying to figure out what exactly she’d been thinking. 

_(Stupid, stupid, stupid.)_

The walk home proceeds to mock Misty, the skies opening up to pour buckets upon buckets on her head. Halfway through the walk, she dumps the flowers on someone’s doorstep. Maybe they’ll provide a lovely gift to whoever finds them, because the thought of handing these flowers to Cordelia makes Misty’s stomach turn. By the time she reaches the back door, she is soaked through to the bone. She kicks off her now-ruined sandals, half-heartedly scrubbing the mud off the bottom of her feet on the welcome mat. When that proves inefficient, she gives up and goes inside. 

In the kitchen, Coco and Queenie are arguing over a box of cake mix, both donning aprons and wielding cooking utensils. “I’m tellin’ you, cupcakes are superior over cake. Don’t fuck with my baking skills, white girl.”

Coco laughs in Queenie’s face, waving her mixing spoon in a circle as if stirring an invisible potion. “The box literally says ‘cake mix,’ as in, use this to bake a fucking cake.” She turns when she hears the back door slam shut, jumping in surprise. “Jesus, what the fuck did you two do today? Jump in the Mississippi?”

“What?” Misty stares blankly at her.

“Cordelia came in like, twenty minutes ago lookin’ like a whole ass drowned rat,” Queenie quips. “Both of y’all had that sad ass look on your faces, too.”

Misty continues to stare at them. She can’t help herself from asking, “Did she say anything?”

Queenie whacks Coco upside the head with her spatula, mocking, “Yeah, Co, did she say anything?”

“I may have, and I’m not confirming or denying, asked her how your little date went today.”

“It was _not_ a date,” Misty croaks, closing her eyes in disbelief.

“Well I realize that _now_ ,” Coco huffs, “especially since Cordelia nearly killed me off with the look she gave me. It’s not my fault Mallory told me she gave you the push to ask her out.”

“Where is she?”

“Mallory?” Coco looks confused.

“Cordy’s in the greenhouse,” Queenie rolls her eyes, “but be careful. Whatever you did to her, swampy, you better be prepared to apologize big time. She was really upset.”

“Thanks so much,” Misty bites sarcastically, turning back through the door she’d just come in.

The greenhouse door, like always, is a little jammed. Misty has to shove it roughly with her shoulder, announcing her presence to the only other person that routinely comes in here. Silence awaits her. Normally there is some notion that Cordelia is in here, but today there is nothing. It’s eerie, with the rain pounding down on the roof and most of the lights off. Misty is startled by Cordelia brushing past her from behind, where she proceeds to ignore Misty and sit at her stool.

“Delia, I-”

“Back already? I would have thought you and Amber would spend the rest of the day together.” Cordelia’s tone is clipped, annoyance seeping through like a wine stain on a dress.

Misty opens her mouth and closes it, unable to come up with a snarky enough reply.

Cordelia finally looks over at her, eyes narrowing in on her bare feet. Frowning, she comments, “You’re leaving muddy footprints everywhere.”

Following Cordelia’s gaze down at her feet, Misty feels heat rise up the back of her spine, filling her with a senseless rage. She wants to smash the clay pots of Belladonna, kick over the metal plant stand, take a baseball bat to the overhead light. 

Instead, she simply drops, “I kissed Amber,” and watches as the life drains from Cordelia’s face.

Underneath that calm exterior, Misty knows her words have sent an arrow of poison straight to Cordelia’s heart and injected it with precision. There’s no taking it back now, especially not when Cordelia begins to inexplicably laugh out loud.

“What’s so goddamn funny about that?”

There’s a rising pressure in Cordelia’s chest, the kind that builds and builds until its final cumulative form comes out in weird ways; like these peals of laughter. It startles Misty, who had expected a fight. Not this. 

“You know, I spend all of my time thinking about you. How you’re feeling, what you’re doing, if you’ve eaten enough that day,” Cordelia says when she finally calms down enough. “And it’s useless, because nothing I ever do will matter. It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does matter,” Misty insists, “you need to feel something.”

“You don’t understand,” Cordelia shakes her head, “I feel too much.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” 

Cordelia wraps her fingers around a vine of blue crown passion flower, holding them until it begins to vibrate and expand across the wooden table. Misty watches on bated breath, brimming with untapped potential and preparing for a blow out. She is craving something deep with the ability to wreck her; wants Cordelia to fight back so she knows Cordelia will do anything for her. It’s hard to make sense of, but the rational part of Misty needs Cordelia to showcase some grandiose emotion so it’s clear she even feels something. Right now, Cordelia is too calm. Too relaxed after what Misty told her. If she weren’t so afraid of getting burnt, Misty would be shaking her by the shoulders and begging for a clear sign she is not the only one haunted by undisclosed emotions.

“You don’t understand,” Cordelia repeats, “I’m tired of feeling like this, all the time. There is no escape.”

“That doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense.”

“Neither does you kissing Amber,” Cordelia finally snaps. Misty can see her veins quiver where she grips the desk to turn around and face her. 

Finally. Maybe this is what they’ve needed all along - a chance to get out the confusing, jumbled ball of emotion that sits heavily on each of their chests and makes it hard to breath some days. 

“I kissed Amber because I wanted to.”

Cordelia crosses her arms around her sternum, effectively closing herself off and putting up guard walls. “Then why aren’t you with her?”

Misty cannot fathom the ability to string together enough words to tell Cordelia how inherently wrong it felt to have Amber’s body pressed against hers, especially when it’s hard to describe that she knows Cordelia’s would feel so right. Warm heat pulses in her cheeks, a deep red blush blossoming across pale skin.

“I don’t want her.”

_(I want you, but I think I’ve already lost you.)_

“Go be with her, Misty.”

“I don’t fucking want that.”

“What do you want? You came in here with clear intentions of hurting me, so I’m not sure I know how to help.”

The problem is - communicating has never been either of their strong suits. They can flirt shamelessly, and make everybody wonder about the nature of their relationship, but there will never be a confirmation that they’re both feeling the same things. It is evoked from years of childhood trauma on both ends; neither of them growing up with enough secure emotional availability to be able to process these complicated feelings in a healthy way. This anger between them has come to the forefront because of frustration; because they had each expected the other to make the first step across the line invisibly painted between them. 

“I wan’ you to - to _fight_ for me. To fucking fight for me like y‘want me.”

Cordelia shakes her head sadly. “I’m not capable of fighting for you. I lost my footing after losing you. You’re free to pursue who you want.”

Misty bites her bottom lip in a useless attempt to stop big, fat tears from forming and falling. On cue, the tears start and roll down her cheeks in an embarrassingly fast pace. Cordelia is still talking, as if convincing herself that this is the right path to go down. Misty tunes back in when she asks, “Do you know what the worst part about losing you was?”

Misty sniffles pitifully, muttering a broken, “What?”

“Seeing your toothbrush in my bathroom the day after. Your shawl that you left carelessly in the breakfast nook. Your favorite ring, the one with the agate gemstone? You left that on my desk by accident. I nearly went mental at the idea of burying it with your ashes.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Misty has to reach behind her for something tangible so she doesn’t crumple to her knees and begin wailing.

“I spent so long missing you that the pieces left behind had to be enough to get me through. Now that you’re back, and you’re whole; this is the way things need to be. It’s like this because you are alive and I cannot ask more from you. I refuse to be selfish.”

“I want you to be selfish. I need you to be selfish.”

Cordelia sways her head side to side, smiling gently. Objectively, she is the most beautiful thing Misty has ever laid eyes upon. She’s seen things in nature so otherworldly it’d made her cry; but this, Cordelia in front of her with that look on her face? Misty has to blink away dizziness to make sure she doesn’t miss one second of it. 

“Misty, you need to know that I am not worthy of you. I am not what you deserve, nor will I ever put myself in the position to even try. Having you at a distance like this is fine, because what is my other option? Not having you? I would sooner put myself in Hell.”

“Cordelia, you -”

“It’s okay, Misty.”

“It’s not _okay_ ,” Misty nearly screeches, and her timbre visibly shocks Cordelia. “We have gotta stop hurtin’ each other like this.” 

Without waiting for a reply, she continues, “I dunno how you live like this, pretending you don’t feel it too. Don’t we owe it to each other? To try?”

Silence follows. It hurts Misty worse than the words Cordelia has been saying. Cordelia is good at this - acting as though she is fine with the way things are. As if she is fine living this lie, in which she suppresses her most carnal desires in lieu of staying dormant with her feelings. 

In her last attempt to grasp at straws, Misty mournfully asks, “Don’t I mean something to you?”

Cordelia begins crying, now, too. “I’m not afraid of being with you, I’m afraid of losing you.”

There is power in her confession. There is an inherent stillness that grounds Misty at the core, that tells her that Cordelia has kept her at arm’s length for a reason. If they were to be together and put the past behind them, there is no guarantee the horrors won’t still cling to them like rot. But there’s a beauty in trying. There’s a miracle to be found by stepping over the line, together. 

The way Misty moves towards Cordelia encapsulates the image of an angel coming towards her as she arrives at the gates of Heaven. It’s dreamy and magnificent, the feeling twisting Cordelia’s gut growing tighter and tighter until she’s afraid she might actually die. And to embrace death’s grip here, with Misty’s palms finally landing purposefully on her body, Cordelia thinks she’d walk into the afterlife willingly.

They’re both blinking back fresh tears, sporadic breaths coming in spurts. There is only eye contact for a moment, too many words on the tips of tongues to pick a select few.

“I’m alive and I love you,” Misty says, slowly, as if speaking to a defiant child. “I can’t not love you.”

“I know,” Cordelia trembles, and her eyes shut slowly as Misty’s thumbs begin caressing her cheeks. “I love you more than anything I have ever loved and will ever love again.” The tangled cord between their hearts begins its slow unravel, every second that passes allowing another brick from the wall between them to crumble into dust.

“Let me in,” Misty requests, and Cordelia knows she’s asking to be let into the confines of her heart. What Misty doesn’t know is that she’s already in there, having made a home out of it. Her words are delicate and calm, because she knows Cordelia is caught in constant torment that will not allow her a moment's reprieve from self hatred. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Cordelia drops her head to Misty’s shoulder and sobs, instantly wetting the fabric with her tears. She feels raw and completely vulnerable, but underneath that, she feels free. She is no longer a restless animal trapped behind a cage with no way out. Nodding her response to Misty’s request, she feels two hands lift her face up until she’s staring into baby blue eyes. 

When Misty inhabits her vision, Cordelia’s world stops.

Maybe it’s the setting, or maybe it’s the rain above, but this kiss is quite possibly the most romantic thing Cordelia has ever experienced. She’s been treated like a queen, sought after, chased, and kissed like they do in movies, but none of these things compare. Misty feels like coming home after a long trip, like kicking your shoes off after a night out, like sinking into a warm bath that immediately soothes your aching muscles. Her lips are pliant and comforting, and Cordelia is not sure she’ll ever want to do anything but kiss them ever again.

For all she knows, time passes by them at rapt speeds. Seconds, minutes, or maybe even hours go by, but it does not matter. The only thing that matters is Misty holding onto her with a vice grip, as if scared Cordelia will float away to the regal place she belongs amongst the clouds. Misty breaks the kiss with an apologetic smile, moving down to explore the scent emanating from the pulse point in Cordelia’s throat, pressing a line of sloppy kisses down the length that effectively make her forget her own name. Cordelia whines, blunt fingernails digging into the soft flesh of Misty’s upper back.

(It doesn’t bother Misty, not when she feels as though she is finally being marked the way she deserves.)

Now, Cordelia is the one to pull Misty’s face back up, connecting their lips once more. Squeezing her eyes shut in fear of being blinded by Misty’s beauty, she is now the one to request, “I love you. Take me to bed.”

_(I love you so much I could die.)_

They have wasted too long tiptoeing around invisible boundaries, never crossing them in fear of the unknown. But the unknown feels like this - warm heat pooling in her lower gut, increasing every time Misty’s tiny body ruts against hers. It’s the feeling of being wanted so badly it hurts, so there is no use in waiting any longer. If they’re going to do this, Cordelia wants it done properly. 

Holding steady to Misty, Cordelia takes charge and they are suddenly in her darkened bedroom. The change of scenery momentarily stuns her, allowing Misty the ability to walk her backwards towards the bed until she falls on to it. The sheets billow up around them as if welcoming her back and greeting Misty for the first time. Misty covers Cordelia’s body with her own, nimble fingers brushing down her torso and back up in a terrifyingly arousing journey. When Cordelia actually whines, unconsciously lifting her hips, Misty chuckles and briefly hides her smile in the hollow of her throat.

Those same hands slip behind to unhook Cordelia’s dress, the one Misty has been dying several slow deaths per day to peel from her body. As if reading her mind, Cordelia forces eye contact and asks, “You want to know something?”

Misty impishly grins, pulling the dress down a little further to reveal lace-clad breasts. Her eyes glaze over as she replies, “Always.”

“I foolishly bought this dress with the idea in mind that you’d take it off of me someday.”

“Not so foolish now, huh?” A feral emotion takes over all sense of rational, her movements now quick and not at all subtle. She has the dress off and thrown in a heap on the floor, already crawling halfway down the bed by the time Cordelia catches up with her. “Wait,” she cries, tugging at Misty’s own clothes, “I want to see you, too.”

Denying Cordelia anything would be like denying herself basic human necessities, so Misty humors her by removing her own clothes, leaving her upper half naked. Cordelia’s slack jawed look at her chest has Misty smirking, giving her ample time to duck her head down and spread two cream colored thighs. She rubs Cordelia there with two fingers, basking in the delightful moan that follows. It serves as a reminder that they have come this far, and now Misty does not want to wait any longer. Her thumbs hook into the waistband of panties, roughly pulling them down and off. There will be time later to be gentle, but with the earth shattering gasp Cordelia releases, that time is not now.

Tasting Cordelia is like tasting a delicacy upon her tongue, a treat Misty gives herself after the years of useless pining and desperation. When her mouth brushes over Cordelia’s clit, the following tremor is enough for Misty to give up her teasing and move along, sucking it between lips with clear intentions. The intimate act is almost too much for either of them. Having denied themselves the simple pleasure of even touching each other for so long, this connection brings a resounding sense of righteousness that flows through their veins, white hot and bold. 

Cordelia’s knees wobble on either side of Misty’s head, one hand flying up to grasp the headboard, the other tangling in unruly blonde curls. With that same hair tickling the inside of Cordelia’s thighs, Misty uses her mouth in a sacrilegious form of apology, making her cry out and moan, a steady pressure rising until it can’t go any further and bursts like a dam.

She comes on a broken sigh, trembling in Misty’s mouth, her body tensed up in the immaculate waves of pleasure. Cordelia barely registers the featherlike kisses over wet folds, only coherent to the blood pumping through her veins and her heart rate going off the charts. With a shaky hand, she tugs Misty up; who seems unwilling to comply as her tongue darts out one last time to savor the taste.

“Christ, Mist,” Cordelia breathes, her body thrumming when Misty suctions her lips over her chest and throat.

“Good?” Her lips are wet and her hair is messy, but Cordelia has never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in her life. It takes her a minute to reply, but she nods affirmatively.

“Good.”

 _(You’ve_ ruined _me, I’m forever chained to your heart like a prisoner now.)_

Using the last bits of her strength, she places a hand on Misty’s hip and encourages her to roll on her side so they’re face to face. The dark room casts billowing shadows from the curtains banging with the wind, but Cordelia’s only focus is Misty’s face. It’s the only thing she’ll ever want to look at again - those sharp blue eyes, the curve of her chin, pretty pink lips she can’t help but lean in and kiss. Her fingers traipse downwards shyly, tracing every inch of Misty’s skin and committing it to memory. Her hands shake from all this built up anticipation, but Misty mercifully does not comment, only looks on with complete and utter love in her eyes.

Cordelia slips her knuckles under wet, flimsy fabric, and Misty swears she sees Heaven or something akin. Bright golden stars dancing in her vision, pearly white gates, an angel waiting patiently at the entrance. Misty’s eyes fly back open as Cordelia starts sliding over her clit, greeted by that same angel staring expectantly at her with a bright smile and beautiful brown eyes.

Misty shifts, a needy, eager sound pushing past her lips. Melting into the touch, she murmurs, ‘ _right there_ ’.

Cordelia nudges their noses together, coaxing a delighted hum from Misty. Whispering, she tells her, “You are so perfect. You’re so good.”

“The only thing I am is yours.”

_(I’ll never want to be anyone else’s.)_

Cordelia humors her, basking in golden light that feels too good to be true.

It doesn’t take Misty long, not with the taste of Cordelia on her lips and the feel of her bare chest brushing against the celestial body in the bed with her. Her moans are caught and muffled by a warm and inviting shoulder, increasing in volume as the thunder above helps drown out the noise. She bites down on the flesh with a sharp cry, coming hard with the firm circles Cordelia makes over her clit; but it is not enough. Coming a second time only moments later, the wail launched from the back of her throat has Cordelia in silent awe, admiring the way Misty comes down from her high.

Unable to stop herself from kissing Misty until she feels sated, Cordelia allows herself to be drawn into position as the little spoon. Warmth radiates from every pore in her body, settling over like a blanket of comfort as Misty holds her so possessively. Soft legs tangle together effortlessly, like they were meant to be intertwined like this all along. What a shame they haven’t. To make up for lost time, Cordelia scooches back until their bodies mold as one, an unidentifiable shape she’ll never want to remove herself from. 

Misty scratches at her head, lulling her into a plane of existence where she only feels this and nothing else. Forcing her eyes back open, Cordelia clutches desperately at the arm slung around her waist and murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Reckon I didn’t make this easy on you either.”

“But I am,” Cordelia admits, “you needed something from me that I was too cowardly to provide.”

Misty drops soft kisses behind Cordelia’s ear, her nose parting strands of silken hair. “I asked for too much from you.”

“Nothing you ask for will ever be too much. I will give you everything I have, and if that is not enough, I will go find it for you.”

Misty smiles at the pleasant thought, snuggling her head into the crook of her neck. “All I want is you. Forever n’ ever.”

“Forever,” Cordelia confirms.

And for the first time in a long time, that is enough. It is enough because they both believe it is.

Cordelia never dreamed in color, not until she met Misty Day.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? ideas? prompts?
> 
> [bird app](http://twitter.com/moonmotels1)


End file.
